Enveloped
by How Beautifully Blue the Sky
Summary: Like all older Hogwarts couples, Ginny and Dean struggle to find a private spot to canoodle. When the rest of Dean's roommates head into Hogsmeade, they pounce on the opportunity. An explicit, plausibly canon, somewhat desultory Ginny/Dean oneshot, taking place during Half-Blood Prince.


Dean enveloped her, which she found both pleasant and suffocating.

Literally, she loved it. There was so _much _of him everywhere, all at once, pressing against Ginny when they kissed in deserted corridors, her back to the wall; weighing Ginny down when they were on his bed, curtains drawn in case his roommates suddenly came back; warming her in an isolated corner of the common room, his arm casually about her shoulders. When they made out, his hand covered the entire back of her head, or half of her ass; when she gave him head, she could feel his heat radiating off him, flushing her cheeks even in the unheated Quidditch changing rooms.

But figuratively, Dean smothered her. He kept a hand on the small of her back when they walked together, and he always rested a hand on her knee when they sat next to each other. He often met her outside her classes to spend their break together or walk her to her next class; he always waited for her to eat dinner.

He was happy eating with her friends, just as he was happy when she sat with Seamus and Neville. He seemed to accede to any plan if it involved spending time with her. She loved Dean; he was sweet and funny, studious and sensitive, and physically _solid_. He was an excellent lover, confident and assured.

Sometimes she needed space. She was certainly used to crowded living conditions, from the Burrow overflowing with brothers to the cramped Hogwarts dormitories. It wasn't physical space she needed from Dean; in fact, she loved his affection and tasteful physicality.

But sometimes she wanted to write an essay alone, so she could sigh melodramatically and pull faces without Dean clucking sympathetically, or spend an afternoon in the common room without the temptation of abandoning her friends to challenge him to a game of strip Exploding Snap, which they'd played in hushed voices once before in a deserted classroom.

The first time she'd told him she was going down to the lake to read by herself and absorb the remaining September sun, she'd been inordinately anxious, hoping not to hurt his feelings, couching her words carefully. To her surprise, Dean had shrugged cheerfully, told her he'd see her at dinner, and then kissed her so fiercely she'd contemplated changing her mind and shagging him instead.

From then on, establishing boundaries had been easier, which in turn allowed her to – usually literally – lean in to the time they did spend together. Whereas Michael had tended to sulk and avoid her for hours or days at a time, Dean acted like he couldn't get enough of her, and that, Ginny had to admit, felt pretty fucking good.

Dean had increased her confidence by an order of magnitude. Her first time, with Michael, was objectively awful. It wasn't like she had sisters with which to gossip about sexual encounters, and she was the most sexually precocious of her friends, but she knew it was bad. Michael had claimed he wasn't a virgin, but she suspected he may have been lying. They'd consummated their months of dating late in her fourth year, by which time Ginny was positive their relationship was rapidly reaching its expiration date. Ever practical, she'd figured doing it with Michael would give her valuable knowledge in her next relationship.

Indeed, Michael's behavior on the night in question solidified her desire to break things off: he'd tugged her along by the hand from classroom to classroom an hour before curfew, rejecting each one – "too cold" or "too close to Flitwick's study" or "we can look down into the courtyard from these windows, anyone could see us" – before she'd finally insisted they stop wandering. The following four minutes were awkward, clammy, and silent; Michael was pouting and Ginny, at fourteen, hadn't the faintest idea what she was supposed to be doing.

Six weeks later, when she'd broken up with Michael and had started dating Dean, she was petrified of repeating the experience, not because it had been so unpleasant (though it had), but because undoubtedly her lack of sexual prowess would cause Dean to dump her mercilessly and, she supposed, hook up with a beautiful Muggle girl over the summer when he was home.

She liked Dean so much this prospect was intolerable to contemplate, and so she successfully demurred sex with Dean until they saw each other again in the fall, enticing him with extended snogging sessions – no thanks to Michael, she felt she'd developed her skills fairly convincingly in this area – and promises to write him steamy, salacious letters all summer.

The success of her plan left her with two months to improve her sexual skills, without any way to practice, all while under the watchful eye of a houseful of brothers. A tall order, to be sure, but one Ginny was prepared to take on. Her mother's _Witch Weekly_ copies were of very little help, geared more toward "mature witches" than lustful teenagers her own age. She therefore recruited Demelza to take out a subscription to _Seductive Spellwork_ and send her all the sex advice columns disguised as letters, which Demelza gleefully agreed to do.

As a result of her labors, sex with Dean when she returned to Hogwarts was glorious. To be fair to him, he possessed quite a lot of skills already, and had practiced them extensively with Katie Bell, whom he'd dated for much of the previous year.

He was giving and went down on her with enthusiasm, groaned convincingly at all the right moments, and made her feel like she was talented and attractive and seductive. She had no doubt his attitude allowed her newly acquired theoretical skills to turn into practical application much more effectively than if she was trying them out on an unappreciative and uninvested prat like Michael.

Their problem, the same problem all older students at Hogwarts faced, was finding privacy. In October, she and Dean plotted to stay back from a Hogsmeade weekend, when Dean's dormitory was sure to be deserted. The promise of sex in a real bed made Ginny's stomach clench with anticipation whenever she thought of it in the days leading up to the weekend.

She attempted to channel her building sexual energy into teasing Dean terribly, slipping her hand into the front waistband of his underwear when they kissed goodnight just outside the portrait hole on their way back from the library one night, then boldly straddling him, knees on either side of his legs, in the deserted common room late the next, daring any sleepy first year to come back down the stairs.

The morning of the Hogsmeade excursion, she went down to breakfast with Demelza, as she usually did, and ate little. Dean winked at her from across the table and a few seats down, where he was sitting with Seamus. Seamus caught the wink and looked at her; she raised her eyebrows suggestively at him, and he snorted good-naturedly and said to Dean, "So you're still coming into Hogsmeade with Parvati and Lavender and me, right?"

Dean shook his head mournfully. "I need to finish that essay for Snape."

Suspicions confirmed, Seamus shook his head and went back to his toast. Ginny rose from the table with Demelza to head back to the common room, but was stopped in the entrance hall by Professor Dumbledore, who appeared to be entering for breakfast.

"Ah, Miss Weasley," he said courteously. "Would you mind passing this note along to Harry? I wouldn't want to cause" – he paused – "…a _scene_ were I to give it to him personally."

Slightly awed – while she'd seen Dumbledore many times at Grimmauld Place and had eaten more than a few meals with him, he'd never spoken more than a few sentences to her directly – she left Demelza and doubled back to the Great Hall toward Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

Ron was speaking animatedly as she approached, and she couldn't help but appreciate Harry's slim shoulders in his soft, grey-blue sweater. She thought his untidy hair today gave him a particularly devil-may-care appearance: he needed a haircut. However, one glance over at Dean and his lean torso and dark curls and bright eyes, and Harry was forgotten. Dean's body would be under hers in just one short hour.

"Hey Harry," she said. "I'm supposed to give you this."

"Thanks, Ginny," he replied absently, ripping open the parchment. Ginny was distracted, watching Dean listen to Parvati speak down the table. Ginny was so high-strung, so attuned with lust for him, that even the most insignificant movements triggered another aching wave of desire: his long fingers deftly handled his fork and knife, his dimples flashed as he gave a half-smile at a joke one of his friends had made, and his eyes shone with a vibrancy and vitality she could see even from here. Between her legs, she could feel herself begin to grow warm. _Just a few more minutes_.

"Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?" Harry's question pulled her away from raking over Dean's body with her eyes.

"I'm going with Dean – might see you there," she lied automatically, reveling in the thrill of her secret tryst. As she waved and turned to leave, she caught Dean's eye again, and his look suddenly shifted from lighthearted good humor to one of such smoldering intensity that her pussy actually _ached_ and a flood of wetness followed. She smiled shortly – she couldn't hope to match his seductive intensity, but she could hope for fuck-me-now eyes, couldn't she? – and turned away, and was gratified to hear Dean stand up at once behind her and say goodbye to his friends.

She was halfway up the stairs when he caught up with her, his arm snaking around her waist automatically.

"What d'you reckon?" he said. "They're all downstairs eating, I think they're heading straight into Hogsmeade."

At the top of the stairs, she stopped and turned to face him, one hand gripping the back of his shirt, the other reaching for his neck as she stood on tiptoe, leaning against him by necessity as she reached for his lips. He was so _tall._

"I reckon," she whispered, not bothering to look behind her to see if the entry was deserted, "that if I don't see you naked in the next ten minutes, I'm going to combust."

He murmured something low and unintelligible in assent, slipping his tongue inside her mouth for just one moment before he was tugging her along behind him, taking the steps two at a time. She was out of breath by the time they reached Gryffindor tower.

The common room was rowdy with first and second years, and normally she might have tried for a more subtle approach, giving Dean a few minutes' head start to dart upstairs to the boys' side of the dormitories, but this morning she took no notice of any curious, slightly starstruck younger students watching their obviously illicit rendezvous.

Dean's dormitory was empty. He shut the door behind her, and she reached immediately for his belt buckle, working it loose while he played with the hem of her sweater, waiting to lift it over her head.

"A bed!" she said exuberantly.

"I'm intending to make full use of it," he promised, pulling off her sweater as she dropped his belt to the floor. He stepped out of his pants while she undid the two buttons of his cardigan, which he removed entirely while she took off her own pants. In seconds, he wore nothing but his white undershirt and boxers, while she wore her bra and panties.

She kissed him, one hand sliding down his ass while the other pushed lightly against his chest, moving him backward in the direction of his bed. When he collapsed on top of it, she climbed on top of him, straddling his legs, running her hand down the plane of his stomach and reaching inside his underwear for his cock, which she was pleased to find completely erect.

"I think I've had that hard-on for hours, honestly since I woke up and remembered what we were doing today," he mumbled, stifling a groan as she began to stroke it gently. With an impressive attempt at dexterity, he fiddled with her bra clasp with one hand, while the other reached behind his head to pull his curtains half closed. That task accomplished, he dedicated both hands to the task, and Ginny shrugged out of her bra a moment later.

"I know we have time today," she said, as his right hand traced her left breast, "but I don't want to go slow." A slice of light fell over his face, but the rest of his body was in shadow from the heavy drapery around his bed.

In response, he slid her underwear down over her thighs, and she tried her best to wrangle them off without too much clumsiness. _Seductive Spellwork_ had never covered trying to remove one's clothes while on top of a lover in an enclosed four-poster bed – silly, really, considering how a significant share of the British magazine's subscribers must be Hogwarts students.

Dean flipped her over so she was on her back and tried to remove his own underwear. She was glad to see it was also a rather laborious process for him – his sexual prowess didn't extend to sexily removing his underwear. She considered not knocking the curtains off their hangings from an errant elbow or foot to be a success.

Both naked, Ginny spread her legs and Day lean between them, returning his lips to her neck. Every part of her body that was touching his was warm; it was inevitable given the amount of heat he exuded. Her extremities, exposed to the cool castle air, were not. She pressed her icy fingers to his back and he yelped.

In retribution, he moved his own fingers between her legs, lightly tracing her lips, one finger just breaching the entrance of her canal. "Are you sure you don't want to go slowly?" he asked, slipping it inside with a rapidity that made her shudder. His hand, just like the rest of him, was a furnace on her skin. "I can go down on you…we have all morning…"

Ginny shook her head and kissed his jaw, the part of him nearest her mouth. "No. I want you to fuck me right now." _Spellwork _recommended bluntness, and so far Dean responded exactly as the magazine had predicted: with overwhelming enthusiasm.

He laughed and reached above her head under his pillow, pulling out a condom.

"You usually sleep with condoms under your pillow?" she asked, smirking, as he ripped it open.

"You laugh, but if I hadn't put it there this morning – while _your_ brother was in here, I might add – one of us would have to go round to my trunk now to get it. The temperature is _much_ more pleasant in here – that floor is cold as shit."

"Do _not_ mention Ron again," she said, and guided his cock inside her. She grunted in what she hoped was a dignified manner, reveling in the sensation. They engaged in all manner of sexual activity, but so rarely had the chance to do this – and never in such cozy environs.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he whispered, and a shiver of delight ran through her, his compliment almost more pleasurable than his cock.

Suddenly, Dean froze on top of her. _"Fuck_," he hissed, and reached for the curtain surrounding his bed, wrenching it closed just as the door to the dormitory opened. He brought his hand down instinctively on Ginny's mouth. They were plunged into darkness. Ginny heard footsteps – the same footsteps Dean must have heard in the antechamber off the staircase – and waited.

_Really_, _though_, she thought, wanting to feel disgruntled by Dean's hand over her mouth, but finding the action had done more to turn her on than even his earlier fingering, _I wasn't breathing _that _loudly. _

To retaliate, she wriggled her hips underneath him, thrusting lightly, and she swore she felt his cock _pulse_ in response. Her delight was furthered when he squeezed the hand over her mouth, clearly warning her to behave.

The unknown figure in the room walked to a trunk – she heard the creak and thump as the lid lifted – and rummaged through it.

It could definitely be Seamus, hoping to a prank his friend and catch him in a compromised situation, she reasoned. More likely it was Neville, returning for some forgotten item before heading to Hogsmeade with everyone else. She sincerely hoped it wasn't Ron, or at least that he hadn't heard the soft clinking of the closing curtains as he entered the room. She was _not_ in the mood to manage his emotions today. Harry – she immediately cut off that train of thought, refocusing instead on Dean and his glorious body and how good he felt inside her.

The boy outside the curtains continued to rifle through his possessions, and Ginny idly ran her fingers down Dean's back, making lazy circles and indeterminate patterns over his ass before circling back up to his shoulders, taut with the effort of holding himself over her on his elbows.

At long last, she heard the slam of the closing trunk, and the unknown intruder walked out of the door, shutting it behind him.

"Oh my _God," _breathed Dean, relaxing so she felt his entire body weight on her and removing his hand. "Who _knows_ who that was."

She loved his Muggle mannerisms, and had even adopted some of his swearing. Only her Muggle-raised friends said _Jesus Christ_ and _Oh my God_ and _Good Lord, _and she liked the way they sounded coming out of her mouth.

"I think," she said, cupping his ass in her hand, urging him to resume his thrusts, "that was _really_ fucking hot."

"You would," he said, complying with alacrity. "I'd rather _not_ be beaten up by your brother and his best friend, thanks."

Ginny laughed and pushed him away, missing his cock inside her the moment he withdrew. She urged him to lie on his side, then rolled him over so she could slide back on top of him.

"I _told_ you," she said, easing him back inside her, slowly enough that he groaned softly, "do not mention Ron while I'm trying to fuck you."

And he didn't.

* * *

_Ooh, this was so easy to write when picturing Alfred Enoch! I would be his pen pal in approximately three seconds. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


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